Hushed Voices, Hushed Hearts
by teletubabe
Summary: "Delly never cares about the smudges of coal that coat his arms and soil her dresses. She doesn't care that he's sometimes late to meet her because he's eating dinner and took a late shift at the mines. She doesn't care that they're in the abandoned shack next to the slag heap, sitting on the floor letting the draft come in, and Thom loves that. "


Thelly was stuck in my head, I couldn't write anything else until I got this out. I think they're adorable. :)

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Delly never cares about the smudges of coal that coat his arms and soil her dresses. She doesn't care that he's sometimes late to meet her because he's eating dinner and took a late shift at the mines. She doesn't care that they're in the abandoned shack next to the slag heap, sitting on the floor letting the draft come in, and Thom loves that.

He loves that none of it matters, and that she kisses him like she's searching for air, and when he touches her she makes those sounds for him - hushed, whimpering little sighs that sort of sound like his name. He loves the way she scrapes his thighs gently with her nails when she's going down on him, it makes him shudder and that makes her smile teasingly.

Tonight he's sitting against the wall, back pressed against the plywood and letting Delly straddle him and kiss him slowly. Their clothes are still on, but his hands are grabbing onto her generous hips. Delly is all curves and dips, and sometimes she lets him trace each one with his tongue until he unravels her. But right now he just *feels* her, and when he squeezes firmly she sighs into his mouth and loops her hands around his neck.

They'd long called dibs on this little shack; all the other kids know not to try to claim it as their own anymore. Most nights when they can, Delly sneaks out from town and waits here for him to arrive, and by the time they leave sometimes the sun is almost rising. But it's not just sex all the time - they talk and they cuddle and just try to exist together. It's not often that they can just forget about the animosities of the world around them: Seam and Town, district and Capitol, tribute and tribute in the arena.

She had spent part of her allowance on tiny single wick candles that they neatly placed around the border of the hut. On most days it is too windy to keep them lit, but tonight they're burning bright, so they can see each other's faces so well. Thom sees the scattering of freckles across her nose and upper cheeks and he sees her hazel eyes that look more brown right now, but he knows that they're green in the sun. He silently wishes he could see her eyes in the sun more often.

Some nights they're all over each other, tearing at clothes, desperate to find bare skin. But right now Thom senses her slowing down and her movements are languid and passive. She's not feeling it, so he pulls back.

"What's wrong?", he asks, and Delly almost looks taken aback.

"Nothing is wrong. I want you."

"Those are two separate ideas, wanting me and having something that's wrong aren't mutually exclusive. It's okay if something is wrong. We can talk," he promises, searching her eyes for agreement, but Delly just laughs snidely looking to the side. He's being a smart ass again, playing with her words.

She presses a kiss against his stubbled jaw and whispers in his ear. "I don't want to *talk*, I just want to kiss you some more."

Thom groans. "I want to kiss you too, but something's obviously on your mind."

Delly lets go of his neck and removes her mouth from his skin, sitting back on his legs and looking at him from the farther distance. She's staring like she can't believe this is happening, that she can't believe he's doing this right now. He snakes his fingers through hers so that there joined by one hand, and he squeezes thoughtfully.

"Is it the Games?"

Her eyebrows crease together in a frown, and Delly nods the slightest bit. "I can't stop thinking about it. Peeta in that arena by himself."

"He's not by himself, he has Katniss, Haymitch, people are rooting for him," he argues.

She sighs. "Not enough people, I think."

"What do you mean?"

"No one's betting on him," Delly whispers. "I don't even think Peeta is betting on him."

Thom sees a tear begin to swell in her eyes, and when she blinks it falls down her cheek. He brushes it away with his thumb, touched by her immense affection for others. Delly lifts her head and smiles coyly at him when he does this, and even though they're both filled halfway with grief and worry for their friends in the arena, he hopes this moment lasts forever.

"I'm sorry I'm like this tonight," she says softly, squeezing his hand back. "I'm such a mess right now."

"Yeah, I have to admit it's a pretty selfish thing to do. I don't even get to see you that often anymore, and you just gotta ruin it by talking about Bread Boy, don't you?" He says it with a straight face, and by the end Delly's laughing, beaming almost. Her dimples always peek through when she's really happy and she throws her head back slightly when she's humoured.

"Don't call him that," she urges casually, breaking the grasp they had on each other's hands to weave hers through his hair. It feels so good, her fingertips brushing his scalp like that, so he pulls her in by the thighs so she's closer to him on his lap and leans in for a kiss.

It's playful this time, and Thom can tell from the way her lips move that she's smiling into her kisses. But playful doesn't always mean gentle, and after a few long minutes of dominant tongues and lip biting his lips trail south towards the delicate skin of her neck. She's pale, so, so pale like the inside of a peach or the richest cream. He loves how his hickeys look against her soft skin, dark purple and standing out so much that sometimes she scolds him.

He loves this (loves her). Girls from the Seam are angles and lanky bones, but Delly is substance; something about her makes her feel more real, makes him feel like he's kissing a woman and not a girl. His older brother always said something demeaning of the same idea. "Soil a town girl, Thommy. They take any bait, and it gives you something to grab onto." That might've been what it was at the beginning ,but not anymore. And besides, he's sure kids in town have their own nasty stereotypes about Seam boys too. She's slumming it. She's making love to a filthy Seam Rat who's just greedy for a taste. He supposes that's supposed to say something about her too, that she's loose or has low standards, but none of it is real.

Her skin tastes like sugar, and he smells a floral perfume behind her ear. The thought of her dressing up and trying to impress him makes Thom grin; he's love the way she looked if she was wearing a burlap sack of forgot all of her fancy products.

Soon he makes his way down to her collarbones, so he nips them and lathes them with his tongue until Delly gasps out loudly.

"Thom," she moans, quieting down for her next words. "I miss you."

"What are you talking about, Dell, I'm right here."

He doesn't understand what she means, they see each multiple times a week and for hours on end. Delly shifts downwards so that they're face to face again, and their lips are so close together if Thom was just to move his chin forwards the tiniest bit they'd be kissing again.

"I miss you, you know. At school and stuff."

"You never talked to me at school," he points out, though he understands what she's saying. His long hours at the mines and her helping out at the shoe store make it hard to see each often.

"I would now," she swears, and Thom gives her a sceptical look. "I would Thom, really. I just want to spend time with you."

"What would everyone else think about that?"

"Fuck everyone else." She never usually curses, and the words are forced out of her sweet mouth. "Everyone at school doesn't know, they're just indoctrinated into hating the way we fit together. I'm tired of all of this. Our friends being sent to die in the Games, the way we're living in Twelve, how I need to pretend I don't know you when we pass each other on the street because the Peacekeepers might arrest you when all I want is to _kiss you_ , Thomas. I wish I could do something to make it end, I would do anything to just-"

He kisses her before she can say anything more, firm and insistent and unexpected. Delly's filled with a longing and a fire, she's kissing him back the way she would if they could do it on the street, if they were allowed to love. He pulls away the slightest bit so that their foreheads are touching. He whispers, barely making a noise.

"You can't say stuff like that, babe. Not here, never out loud." Her eyes give him a look that say that she knows, that she wants to say more but won't. Thom shouldn't add anything more either, it's hypocritical really, but the words are already flowing. "If one day I need to fight for you, Delly Cartwright, you know I will. I need you to know that. It's just that there's a time and a place to have that kind of talk, and it's nowhere even remotely close to this wretched district."

Delly nods. "And I'd do the same, for you."

And they don't need to make anymore promises on that front.

They reposition themselves so that they're lying on the hay that pads the floors, and Delly is tucked into the curve of his body, holding onto his arms that embrace her tightly. Thom smells her hair and thinks about what time it must be. They can probably get in a couple hours of sleep before they need to wake up and sneak back into their homes.

He's exhausted from a long day, the mines never fail to tire him out, so in minutes his eyelids start to droop, her warmth is making it easier to fall asleep. Before he's out though, he hears Delly speak into the darkness.

"One day we're going to sleep together in a real bed, I swear it."

And somehow through the hopeless world around them and all the odds against them, Thom knows she's right.

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Did you love it, did you hate it? Leave me a review, I'm always open to input or story ideas!


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